


Ramble On

by anastiel



Series: Supernatural Codas [15]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Emotional Hurt, Episode: s15e03 The Rupture, Frottage, M/M, Season/Series 15 Spoilers, Self-Hatred, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2021-01-23 12:04:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21319903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anastiel/pseuds/anastiel
Summary: When Castiel leaves, he heads west.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Supernatural Codas [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/160976
Comments: 28
Kudos: 193





	Ramble On

When Castiel leaves, he heads west. 

He takes his truck, speeding out of the Bunker’s garage around midnight. He doesn’t take any of his things with him, just the clothes on his back, the single credit card Sam gave him last week, a handful of cash buried in his trench coat pocket, and a full tank of gas. 

He doesn’t intend to come back, but the thought of walking back in to gather his leftover items from his room and having to face Dean makes him physically ill. 

He can’t. 

He knows when he’s not wanted, Dean made that _ inexplicably _ clear. 

As much as the truth of the situation hurts, for his own peace of mind he needs to leave, to start over and at least try to make something of whatever time he has left. He’s done caring about Dean, or so he tells himself.

In reality, he will always love Dean more than any other being in the entire universe, such is bound to be his eternal curse. He’ll learn to live with the ache. 

His phone starts ringing two minutes after he’s headed out on the highway, speeding west in a sea of blackness, his headlights the lone lights. Dean’s name flashes onto the screen -- four missed calls, three messages. Cas rolls his eyes and turns up the volume on the radio, a 90’s pop station, playing the greatest hits of the Spice Girls and the Backstreet Boys -- loud enough to partially drown out the excessive ringing. 

Around mile twenty Cas turns his phone off altogether and throws it into the glove compartment, where it clatters against the handgun stored there. He doesn’t care what Dean has to say, he had his chance, this time Cas isn’t going to give him another. 

He drives and drives until the darkness opens up into a distant mirage of twinkling lights from service stations, hotels, and fast food restaurants off of the freeway. Safe spaces for wayward travelers, sprinkled throughout the thousands of miles of highway across the country. He’s tempted to stop, exhaustion already starting to creep in, but keeps going. 

Cas’ body is failing him more than usual and he’s only able to stick with driving for eight hours before he’s falling asleep at the wheel, swerving into the left lane and awoken by the blare of a truck horn. He pulls onto the shoulder, checks the locks on the doors and curls up in the front seat. In lieu of a blanket he tugs off his trenchcoat and covers himself with it. 

It’s not ideal but the little money left will need to be saved for gas and food, the front seat will suffice as lodging. He’s more intent on getting far enough away from Dean than succumbing to human necessities he can easily ignore. 

The world is ending and he’s running; comfort comes last.

Two days later he’s six miles outside of Truxton, Arizona, truck sturdy beneath him, albeit running low on gas again. Truxton isn’t much to look at: a two stoplight town, nestled on Route 66 in the middle of the desert, with all of the essentials -- gas station, motel, diner-bar combo. Cas pulls into the gas station, noting the needle on his tank perched on the edge of E. His stomach grumbles as he steps out of the car. What a nuisance. 

Sweat clings to his back underneath his dress shirt. He shrugged out of his coat and suit jacket hours ago, once the sun started hitting the truck head-on and his air conditioner crapped out a day into his journey. He pockets his cash, credit card, and keys and heads inside. As far as gas stations go it’s fairly standard, the usual selection of stale ready-to-eat food, overly sweet sour candies, and wide array of various sodas and energy drinks. Cas pauses in the middle of the aisle, briefly internally examining his physical state and all its newly human needs. He eyes a bag of pretzels, but then his stomach growls incessantly. 

That’s not going to be enough. 

He snatches two bean burritos out of the warmer, grabs two large bottles of water, and heads up to pay. 

The attendant hesitantly grabs the items, eying Cas warily. 

“You alright, sir?” He asks. 

Ben, his name tag reads, underneath the Gas-N-Sip logo. He looks young, barely above twenty-one. Cas must look a sight, hair frazzled from his own hands and being mushed from sleeping in the car the past two days, eyes red rimmed from crying, and a bone deep exhaustion that’s been plaguing him from the moment he set foot out of Lebanon. 

“I’m fine,” Cas answers, clears his throat pointedly and nods towards the door. “Twenty on pump two, please.”

Ben nods, pursing his lips and the card reader beeps as Cas slides the chip in. The beeping increases and Ben sighs, almost petulant. 

“Says it’s declined.”

It’s the only card he has. Cas digs into his pocket and pulls out a handful the crumpled bills -- ten dollars. He’s fucked. 

“Uh,” Cas scrambles. He thinks about how parched he is, there’s a sort of dryness on his tongue he’s never felt before. His body needs again and it’s putting him into panic mode. “I’ll take the food and water, put whatever is left for gas.”

Ben takes the money from him and punches numbers into the register. He frowns, a mess of empathy in his features tinged with annoyance, not that Cas blames him. 

Cas never does anything right, not even planning a successful get away from his family. 

Cas leaves without another word, the bell above the door clanging loudly as he steps onto the pavement, arms bundled with his food. 

He deposits all of it into the passenger seat. The leftover money gets him a gallon of gas, not much, he won’t get much further than Truxton on that, but so long as he has somewhere safe to sleep for the night on the side of the road, he’ll be good. 

It’s nearly sunset by the time he heads out, chewing on burrito number one. Route 66 is deserted this hour, a few locals heading back and forth between towns, but otherwise empty desert and abandoned ghost towns are silhouetted in the distance, eerie in the orange glow of the sun.

His trucks sputters to a stop fifteen miles outside of Truxton. He pulls her over to the side of the road just in time, gravel crunching under the wheels as the car slows to a stop. 

It’s dark, pitch black due to the lack of street lights in the middle of the desert. He fumbles around, moving his stuff off the seat so he can lie down and try to get comfortable. A sense of despondency settles in his chest, tightens it and rises a sob up in his throat. Cas curls in on himself, thinking of the look on Dean’s face when Cas left; the anger tick of his jaw as he looked at Cas, the tense silence he offered in return at Cas’ words. He made the right choice to leave, it was best for him and for Dean if Cas left. He didn’t want to cause Dean any further harm that he’d supposedly been doing for years. 

It’s led him here, to this desolate place, alone and cold as the temperature dips down at night. He shivers underneath the trenchcoat and tugs it closer up around his chin. 

He doesn’t want to die, but the world is ending, and it feels as though there’s nothing left for him here. 

It’s like he’s in the Empty again, the darkness swallowing him up in the loudness of his own thoughts.

* * *

“Cas?!”

Dean’s voice echoes in his dreams, marked with worry. Cas pushes Dean out of his mind, hoping he will go away. 

“Cas? Are you in there?”

It’s Dean’s voice, faded through the windows and structure of his car, but real. Cas jolts awake and sits up in the front seat, pulse thrumming under his skin. 

Headlights illuminate the darkness, shining directly onto the front of his truck. In the light of it all, he sees Dean's silhouette, the shape of a ghost in the night. 

Cas thinks he’s dreaming, or having a nightmare he isn’t sure. 

He rubs at his eyes, blinking, but when everything comes back into focus Dean is still there. He squints, and by the time he realizes he’s not dreaming and Dean is, unfortunately here, Dean is knocking on his door. 

Dean coming after him was the last thing Cas wanted. 

“Hey,” Dean says, face brightening noticeably when he sees Cas awake and alert at Dean’s presence. He taps his fingers on the window. “I found you.”

“Clearly,” Cas grates out. 

Dean frowns at that, stepping back from the car to give him room. Cas sighs heavily and pushes open the door, half-falling out of the front seat. 

Dean reaches for him, but Cas puts the truck door between them, leaning on it and peers at Dean through the window. 

“How long have you been following me?”

“Uh,” Dean drags a hand through his hair, frazzled almost as bad as Cas’ looks. “I’ve been about five hours behind you, but trying to close the distance since Colorado.”

In the light Cas can see the tension of his shoulders, a red rim around his watery eyes that mirrors Cas’ own. 

Cas squints at him. “Why?” 

“I came to find you.”

“I can see that, but why?”

Dean gapes at him, face going through a series of various emotions in five seconds. “What do you mean _ why _?”

“You made it perfectly clear you don’t want me around.”

“I didn’t say that.”

Cas sighs, rolling his eyes and tugs on the handle of the door to head back inside the truck. “I’m not doing this with you.”

“Wait, listen,” Dean grabs the edge of the door and tugs it back open, insistent even as Cas shoots him a glare. “Can I just... can I help you? I don’t know, get you a meal or something. You said you were losing your powers which means you’re becoming human again. At least let me give you another credit card or some cash, man, cmon.”

The brightness of the Impala’s lights brings out the green in Dean’s eyes, full of wild desperation. There’s sorrow too, the likes of it Cas hasn’t seen before, not even the time Dean kicked him out of the Bunker when he was human the first time.

He should say no. He should tell him to fuck off. 

“I did just run out of gas, so I suppose you could help with that.”

“What were you gonna do? Just stay out here in the middle of the desert until someone found you?”

“I hadn’t figured it out yet.”

“Fuck, Cas. It’s a good thing I found you.”

“Sure,” Cas deadpans. 

He grabs his keys out of the ignition and his suit jacket off of the seat and pushes past Dean to walk towards the Impala. Cas waits next to the passenger side door, turning to look at Dean, who is still standing a dozen feet away holding onto the door of the truck, staring at him.

After a few seconds, Dean pushes it shut, and walks towards Cas. Once he’s close enough he moves in for a hug, but Cas can see him coming a few feet away and tenses, stepping back out of his reach. 

“Please don’t.” Cas clings to his jacket wrapped up in his arms and meets Dean’s eyes head on. 

Dean drops his arms, darts his gaze away from Cas down to his shoes, nodding curtly, before turning and stalking over to the driver’s side. 

The drive back into Truxton is more than a little awkward. Silence sours between them: Cas not interested in talking and Dean, smart enough to realize Cas isn’t going to answer him. He turns music on instead, Zeppelin, the last thing Cas wants to hear right now -- an all-encompassing reminder of Dean sitting next to him. He looks out the window instead, at the passing, empty landscape of the dark.

Dean clears his throat pointedly. “I have two gas cans in the trunk, should be enough to get you back to Truxton so we can get you a full tank. I have a couple credit cards Sam just opened, they’re unused, not sure what the limit on them is but so long as you cut ‘em up once you’re done, you should be fine.”

Cas doesn’t answer and out of the corner of his eye he sees Dean glance over at him, a worried expression flickering over his face and then he swallows, turning his eyes back to the road. 

“You hungry?” Dean asks. 

“I already ate.”

“Okay, good. That’s good.”

The lights of Truxton come into view then and Cas has never been more grateful to see the little town. He stays in the car while Dean gets out, heading inside with a gruffed, “Be right back.”

He sits in silence, distant noises of cars passing by on the highway muffled by the closed window. Inside of this car, which used to be a kind of home for him in the past, he feels isolated now, out of place. He wants out. 

Dean taps on the window, twice, and then there’s the sound of a clang as he starts filling up the gas cans. 

They don’t talk on the way back. Either Dean figured out Cas isn’t going to be good company at the moment, or gave up trying, Cas isn’t sure. 

He’s out of the car the moment Dean pulls in behind the truck and starts lugging the cans over to the side of the truck. Dean’s footsteps echo behind him in the gravel, coming closer. 

“Let me help.” Dean’s hands rest on Cas’ atop the handle of the gas can and Cas fights back the urge to jolt away from him. 

“Fine.” He pushes it towards Dean instead, liquid sloshing around in the can from the sudden movement, just to get Dean’s hands off of him. 

Cas steps back from the car, watching, hands stuffed into his pants pockets, while Dean pours the gas into the truck. He didn’t exactly trust himself to do it without spilling, so when Dean offered to do it for him, Cas consented. Hopefully, after this, Dean will be gone. 

“Thanks,” Cas offers Dean, once he’s done. 

“No problem. Here’s the cards and I pulled out two hundred in cash for you out of the ATM in case something goes wonky.”

Dean holds the stack of cash and cards out to Cas, who takes them with a hesitant hand. 

Cas nods, already moving away to head back into the truck.

“Hey, wait,” Dean calls after him. 

His half-jogged footsteps follow Cas and then he’s right there again. Cas wishes he would go away, or at least have some semblance of the anger he held a few days ago. It would be easier that way. 

“Where are you going to stay?”

Cas gestures to the inside of the truck with a tiny shrug. It’s not comfortable or warm, but Dean’s pity is the last thing he needs right now. 

“Cas, it’s cold. You have money, at least stay in a motel tonight while you can.”

“It’s alright, I need to ration what I have.”

He leaves off the, “I don’t know how long I’ll be on the road.” He doesn’t know -- could be weeks, could be months. If he’s going to survive out here as a human, he needs to be smart.

Dean sighs, heavy and licks his lips. Cas can see the gears turning in his head. 

“Will you let me get you a room?”

Cas opens his mouth to retort, but Dean cuts him off. 

“Just one night, you don’t wanna be out in the cold like this,” Dean says and Cas recognizes it as the plea it is. 

An ache tugs on Cas’ heart at the look on Dean’s face full of desperation and sorrow, wishing that it meant what he thought it does. 

_ You’re still dead to him _, Cas’ brain so helpfully reminds him. 

The promise of a warm room, soft bed, and inevitable meal tomorrow morning and one more night with Dean even if it hurts him is too much to give up. 

“One night,” Cas agrees. 

Dean smiles, not much of one, a glimmer of hope that Cas shouldn’t have given him. 

“I’ll follow you back into town,” Cas says and then he climbs into the truck, putting the door between him and Dean, and bringing the truck to life. 

The Impala’s tail lights guide him back into town and the closer he gets nervousness bubbles up in his stomach. He’s not sure how Dean intends to go about this whole motel situation, no doubt they’ll share a room and Dean will find some way to talk whether Cas wants to or not. He doesn’t have anything else to say and unless Dean is planning on apologizing, Cas doesn’t want to hear it. 

Even then, he’s not sure what an apology would change.

After finishing with the gas, Dean leads him to Truxton’s one motel in town, right off Route 66. It’s rundown over the years, boasting of a bright cracking paint job and a neon sign flickering: FRONTIER MOEL.

Dean gets them one room, not two, though Cas isn’t sure he expected two. He could pass it off as Dean wanting to save money, but more likely than not it’s his sly way of making sure Cas doesn’t sneak away in the middle of the night. They’re silent as Dean gathers his bags from the car, Cas emptied handed but for his trench coat and wallet. The tension between them thickens the longer the silence progresses. 

The room itself is standard as far as Winchester motels go: hideous in decor with blue-yellow patterned comforters, outdated furnishings from the late sixties, and the hint of lingering cigarette smoke in the air. Cas stands awkwardly by the bed nearest to the door until he gets tired of watching Dean methodically sort through his bag, digging out a can of salt for the windows, and decides to seclude himself in the bathroom.

Above the sink the light flickers when he turns the faucet on to splash cool water on his face. He undresses as much as he can without feeling uncomfortable in Dean’s presence, another perk of humanity, embarrassment. He tugs off his tie and unbuttons the top two buttons of his shirt, shucking off his coat, leaving him far too vulnerable in just a shirt, but it will have to do. 

He stays in the bathroom longer than necessary, letting the water run in the faucet and stares at his own reflection in the mirror. There are bags under his eyes, evidence of his lack of sleep and stress from the past few days. Over the past few hours he’s become more accustomed to the rhythmic beat of his heart in his chest, which, annoyingly increases in Dean’s presence. He’s falling, fast. 

Cas sucks in a deep breath, steels himself for whatever waits outside of the bathroom door and turns away from the mirror. 

He feels Dean’s eyes on him the moment the bathroom door creaks open, but pointedly ignores him, padding over to his bed, focusing on folding up his coats and placing them on the chair near the TV. 

“Did you bring any other clothes?” Dean asks. His voice quiet, as he finally breaks the silence between them. 

“When I left it wasn’t a priority,” Cas says, moving to sit on the edge of his bed, briefly glancing up to meet Dean’s eyes. 

Dean visibly flinches at his words and swallows. “Do you... uh want to borrow some of mine?”

“No.”

“Just a few pairs of pants and shirts,” Dean continues, starting to grab shirts out of his bag. “Your regular clothes won’t last long if you’re human and --”

“Why are you doing this?” 

Dean freezes mid-movement, hand wrapped around a pair of sweatpants and finally looks up, meeting Cas’ eyes. “What do you mean?” 

“Being nice! Helping me.” Cas pauses, emotions getting the better of him and now he’s on his feet anger and hurt surging through his veins and when Dean doesn’t _ get it, _ he continues. “You said I was dead to you, that all I ever do is make your life worse and yet you’re here, why?”

“I didn’t want you to leave, Cas, you’re still... family.” Dean urges, he moves around the side of the bed coming closer. Cas stares at him, seeing blatant honesty in Dean’s eyes, love there that was missing a few days ago and Cas’ entire world turns back on its axis.

“Really?” Cas bites out, he takes a step closer. “Because it doesn’t feel that way to me.”

“I didn’t mean what I said,” Dean admits. 

“What part?”

“Look, I’m angry okay? About Mom, about Jack, about Chuck and this whole goddamn Apocalypse and I took it out on you when I shouldn’t have.”

“That’s not fair,” Cas grates out.

“I know and I’m sorry.”

“Sorry isn’t good enough, not this time.”

“Then what the hell do you want me to do? I fucked up, Cas. And sometimes, I don’t even know if any of this,” Dean gestures at Cas and the minimal distance between their bodies, “was real, and I’ve tried to figure it out, tried to guess what parts of my life I’ve had control of and I don’t know, not totally, but what I do know is: I don’t want to lose you, I can’t.”

Cas laughs and it comes out bitter. They’re so close now he can feel the warmth of Dean’s breath on his cheek. “It might be too late for that.”

Even when Cas is pissed at him, Cas still wants Dean in ways he never should have, humanity only amplifying what he’s always felt. 

“So what,” Dean starts, voice gruff and Cas can see the invisible emotional wall Dean so carefully builds falling to pieces, “Are you saying you’re never coming back?”

“Would you care if I did?”

Cas sees the kiss coming before it happens, a hazy dream as Dean fists the front of his shirt and pulls him in. It’s messy and needy, more teeth than the softness of Dean’s mouth Cas craves, anger and arousal fueling it as Dean tries to drag him closer. Cas presses at Dean’s chest with a firm hand, pushing him away and back onto the bed. 

Dean stares up at him, arousal evident in his eyes among the flashes of surprise, and dormant anger. 

“Was that supposed to convince me?” Cas asks, voice shaking. 

“Did it?” 

“No,” Cas answers and crawls onto the bed.

“Guess I’ll have to try harder then,” Dean bites back. Dean’s legs open to him as Cas moves forward, and Dean reaches for him, fingers slipping into Cas’ belt loops, tugging him closer. 

Dean lets Cas straddle his waist, grips Cas’ hips with firm hands and surges upwards to nip at the side of his neck. A gasp leaves Cas’ throat, and rocks his hips against Dean’s, which earns him a whine. He thinks he’s in control of the situation until Dean arches up and kisses him again. This time gentler, licks into Cas’ mouth, and glides his hand up from Cas’s hips to his back to pull him even closer until they’re nearly chest to chest. 

It quite literally takes Cas’ breath away. 

He breaks out of the kiss, drags his teeth over Dean’s bottom lip, tugging on it. Dean looks up at him through his eyelashes, pupils blown wide, so utterly gorgeous Cas forgets for a brief moment why he left. 

“I thought you were mad at me,” Cas groans out as Dean leans down to suck on a sensitive spot on his lower neck. 

“I still am.”

“Is this how you solve all fights?”

“Not usually, but this is more fun.”

Somewhere deep inside him, Cas knows they shouldn’t be doing this, but whatever is happening is too much for them to handle. Cas is weak, he can’t help but let Dean touch him in ways he’s wanted for years, even if it is a little rougher than he imagined. 

He leans in, presses their foreheads together, and grinds their cocks together, getting a good rhythm going and getting Dean to pant into his mouth. They kiss messily, lips wet and barely brushing together, hands groping where they can, but Cas loses himself in the heat of Dean pressed against him and how good it feels to be like this, despite the circumstances.

Dean kisses him for real when he gets close, sweet and desperate, whimpering into Cas’ mouth, it’s too much and finally pushes Cas over the edge. Dean follows soon after, kissing Cas through his orgasm, hands gripping Cas’s hips so hard Cas knows he’ll have marks there tomorrow. 

Afterwards, while they both catch their breath, Cas becomes hyper-aware of where every part of Dean’s body is touching his. Their shoulders are pressed firmly together, Dean’s legs are tangled with his own -- they’re almost cuddling -- Cas hates himself for wishing they actually were.

“Stay?” Dean whispers in the dark, as if answering Cas’ question for him.

An arm slips around Cas’ waist, warm and inviting, and despite his resolve Cas leans into Dean’s touch and the curious soft stroke of Dean’s fingertips on his side. He wants this, wants it so badly the need feels like a living thing between them. But he can’t. 

“Not tonight.” 

He turns over and away from Dean’s grasp, sliding off the bed. Dean’s fingertips brush against his side as he leaves, but Cas keeps going, feeling Dean watching him the whole time he crosses to the other bed. 

Under the covers it’s cold and unwelcoming, contrast to how he felt a few minutes ago with Dean, but it’s safer this way. He can’t let himself have what he wants with Dean, it will destroy him. 

“Cas,” Dean says, in a quiet and broken voice. If Cas isn’t mistaken, he hears a sniffle. 

He turns his back away from Dean, tugs the covers closer up around his neck to keep out the chill, and bites his lip to keep his tears at bay.

“Good night, Dean.”

* * *

In the morning, Cas wakes with the sun, too early for his weakening body to tolerate but once he’s awake his mind is too and he can’t get it to shut off. Instead, he watches the sunrise, how its dim orange glow filters in through the slots of the curtains, casting shadows across the bed, and Dean’s sleeping form on the bed next to him. Dean is still passed out, asleep on his side, turned towards Cas, and hugging his pillow. He’s beautiful in the morning light, how it brings out the freckles on his cheeks, looking utterly relaxed and content in slumber. He may be mad at Dean right now, and they aren’t on good terms, won’t be for awhile, but Cas still loves him with every fiber of his being. Sometimes he wishes he didn’t; leaving would be much easier that way.

Cas slips out of bed, changing into his slacks, careful to not make a sound. He won’t leave without saying goodbye, but he can’t stay, as much as his hopeless heart wants to. They need time apart, if not for Dean’s anger to simmer down, for his own soul-searching, something he hasn’t had the chance to do in, well, ever. 

Minutes later, as Cas is bundling up the clothes Dean offered to him, Dean stirs in bed. Cas freezes and watches him, how he smacks his lips together, scrunches his eyes at the intrusion of the light and then slowly blinks open, automatically focusing in on Cas. 

“Hey,” he says, all dopey and his entire demeanor softens when he sees Cas across the room from him. Right then, a twinge of need in Cas almost makes him decide to stay. 

“Good morning,” Cas states, as normal as he can. 

Dean sits up in bed, frowning whilst yawning and gestures at the clothes bundled up in Cas’ arms. 

“You going somewhere?”

“Yes,” Cas starts, glances down at the small bundle of Dean’s shared belongings and then back to Dean. “I need to leave.”

“Are we... good?” Dean asks.

There’s a look in Dean’s eyes Cas doesn’t recognize, reminiscent of desperation from the night before. Dean tried to hide it, but Cas felt how Dean tried to keep him close last night after what they shared. It’s not something he can dwell on now, but once this is behind them and Cas figures out his new place in the universe, he can also figure out where he fits with Dean.

“One day we might be, but I need more time.”

A panic stricken look appears in Dean’s eyes as he moves off the bed and comes towards Cas, stepping in close and then stops himself once they’re a breath away from each other, his eyes searching Cas’ face. “Will you come back?”

“I don’t know. I just --”

“You need time,” Dean finished for Cas, slowly nodding. “Okay.”

Cas looks at him, really looks, finds Dean’s eyes damp with unshed tears and wills his own back from falling. It hurts to love, more than he ever realized. 

Dean steps in close, wraps a loose arm around Cas’ shoulder and pulls him in for a one-sided hug. Cas stiffens but let’s Dean hug him, relishes in his touch and stuffs down the desire to kiss him deep into his heart. 

He wouldn’t be able to make himself leave if he did. 

“Stay safe,” Dean whispers, right into Cas’ ear. “And if you need anything, call me. Or if you don’t wanna talk to me, call Sam, he’ll help.”

“I will.”

Two claps on Cas’ back and Dean pulls away. 

“See you later, Cas.”

Cas allows himself one lingering look with Dean, memorizes the lines of his face, the green of his eyes, the smatter of freckles on his nose, just in case. 

“I’ll see you, Dean.”

And then he leaves and doesn’t look back. 

He decides to continue west, eventually he’ll hit the ocean and once he does, he’ll turn around and go back the way he came. For now, Route 66 guides him. Once he’s on the freeway, Cas mourns. Human tears flow freely down his cheeks, dampening the collar of his shirt and making it hard for him to see. Everything in him wants to go back, but there’s a voice inside his head telling him that he needs to do this, to be away from Dean for a little while, no matter how much it feels like he’s ripping his own arm off. 

It’s a cheery day, sun bright and high behind Cas, guiding him on his way, a sharp contrast to the dark pit aching in his chest. He’s unsure of the future, if he and Dean can ever be what they were. He can only hope that this imminent journey gives him the healing he needs to find himself and to be able to come back home to his family.

**Author's Note:**

> As always I can be found on [twitter](https://twitter.com/anastiels) <3


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